


Memories

by TellerOfTales



Series: Felis [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Child!Laurent, Family, Fluff, Horses, Kid Fic, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Siblings, Smaurent, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 13:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19702321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellerOfTales/pseuds/TellerOfTales
Summary: A series of vignettes from Laurent's childhood.It goes along with the upcoming chapter 18 of my fic Felis. That said, you don't need to read that fic to understand any of this.





	1. Auggie

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is self-indulgence of the highest tier. I firmly believe that there were other kids between Auguste and Laurent. 
> 
> Ages: Auguste-15, Laurent- 5

Laurent flapped his hands up and down, smiling at the soft _thwap_ the lace cuffs made as they hit one another.

“Alright, little prince, let’s go to your family,” said Hubert as he finished tying the laces on Laurent’s boots.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about them. They were heavy when he walked and stiff, the leather sometimes biting into the back of his knee. But his big brother had ones exactly like them and that counted for something.

Laurent mulled things over as he slipped his hand into Hubert’s and walked out of his room.

His mind didn’t stay focused on his boots for long.

The halls of his home were decorated with sparkling baubles and pendants that had been going up all week.

“I match!” Laurent was delighted, looking from his new set of clothes to the pendants.

Both had white fabric as the base, with deep green and pale blue as accent colors. While it was geometric patterns on the flags, Laurent was happy with the pattern of green pine trees and blue stags running around his cloak’s hem.

Hands came up under his arms and he was held aloft. “Of course you match, little prince. White, evergreen, and sky blue are the solstice colors.” Hubert plucked at his own dark green tunic where white and blue embroidered snowflakes dusted the shoulders. “See.”

Laurent nodded sagely. Indeed, all around him, the halls were like winter had blown in through the doors and made itself at home. Yet, nothing felt cold. There was a warm air of joy that enveloped the boy. 

“I’m sure your mother has been telling you stories, little prince.”

Laurent nodded, eager to say what he knew. “Snow white, blue sky so bright. Green pine, bring back what was mine,” he sang just as his mother had taught him.

Hubert laughed and set him back on the ground. “Very good Laurent.” 

“Ah, there you are Hubert. I was just about to send Vivianne to check on you and Laurent.”

At the voice, Laurent detached himself from Hubert and ran towards the woman. “Mama!”

“Lady Hennike,” Hubert said as he bowed before the queen even as her attention was monopolized by her son.

“Mama, Mama! We match too! Like how ‘Burt and I match the pend-ants!” Laurent tugged on her white skirt, begging to be picked up.

He was indulged. “Indeed we are,” his mother said as she placed a kiss to his brow. “And your father and brother match us too. Say bye to Herbert so we can meet them,” she instructed.

Laurent waved a small hand at the man. “Bye-bye ‘Bert!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, little prince,” he said with a bow. “May the solstice bring you peace and joy, my Lady,” he directed towards the queen before departing.

“Why does ‘Bert have to leave now Mama?” Laurent watched the man’s back as long as he could from over his mother’s shoulder as she carried him down the hall and around the corner.

“He’s going to celebrate the solstice with his family Laurent, as we will. You remember the stories I told you when the decorations were being put up”

Laurent nodded as his eyes skimmed over the decorations in question that festooned the walls. There were the pendants, of course. Great big things, all richly embroidered with winter scenes and only in the three main colors Laurent had seen pop up in every corner of his home. Then there were the wreaths and garlands of pine needles, topped with ribbons in pale blue and white. One had even appeared on his door one night to his delight.

“Tonight is when the people who live in the stars visit,” his voice was hesitant, trying to remember all of what had been told to him. “So we wear white, blue, and green so they don’t get lost and think we are star-people because we don’t look like them. We look like nature right now.” There was one more part he was missing, he just knew it. He squirmed in his mother’s arms to be let down when his eyes caught her crown that glinted in the light. “Oh! And we light candles because they look like stars to the star-people so they know how to get home!”

His mother squeezed his hand and smiled down at him. “Very good, Laurent. I don’t think Auguste could tell me all that at his age.”

Laurent puffed out his little chest at the thought of being smarter than his older brother.

Hand in hand, they made their way down the halls. Laurent started to get a bit lost after they turned a corner he didn’t often go down, rather than continue straight to reach the throne room as he had originally thought.

Idly, he swung his mother’s hand until they turned yet another corner. At the end of the hall, standing before a large door, stood his father and brother.

He slipped out of his mother’s grasp and charged towards the rest of his family. The heavy boots threw him off in the thick pile of the rug, sending him sprawling. With the enthusiasm only found in youth, he sprung back up in an instant and continued the rest of his sprint with a smile.

“Papa! Auggie!” 

He flung himself forward, trusting his brother to catch him as he always did.

“Careful, Laurent,” his brother chided as he juggled a handful of candles. “Here, this one's for you.”

Laurent held the tall candle with both hands. It looked like the others Auguste and his father held, a navy so dark it was almost black with pinpoints of the palest yellow dotting the outside.

“Our candles match, like us!” Laurent stuck out his foot, holding his boot up by his brother’s.

Auguste took his hand as their parents started to walk towards the large door.

“These are candles for the solstice, Laurent. Even the common folk have candles like ours.”

Laurent watched his mother and father light their candles in the sconce just outside the now open door. Each held their candle in their outside hand, their inside hands clasped together as they passed into yet another new hall.

“Do we light ours too Auggie?” Laurent asked as they approached. In answer to his question, Auguste lit his single tall candle, keeping the stubbier ones in reserve.

“Here, trade me candles, Laurent,” Auguste said as he proffered his own, the fire flickering in the draft of the open door. “Just be careful of the wax,” Auguste nudged the candle forward from being straight up, “you’ll want to hold it forward, like a sword.”

That thought made Laurent smile. He knew how to hold a sword. He’d watched his big brother practice plenty of times.

He marched forward into the hall, confident knowing he was surrounded by his family.

He was surprised to find the hall wasn’t illuminated by the usual wall sconces but instead by stubby candles like Auguste’s lining the edges of the walk.

By their soft glow, Laurent noticed little doors dotting the walls with writing he couldn’t yet decipher under them.

Laurent paused at one, curious. He looked back at his brother who drew up to him. “Why are there little doors, Auggie?”

Auguste studied the wall and its mysterious doors for a moment. Mindful of the candles at his feet, he bent down to be level with his little brother.

“You remember the little kitten you found by the stables the other day, Laurent?”

Laurent nodded sadly.

He’d caught a glimpse of orange fur standing out against the fresh white snow and withered grey shrub branches. When he crouched down to investigate, he was disappointed when the little animal was cold and unmoving.

He’d picked the little creature up and brought it to the stable master, trusting him to know how to make the kitten act like all the others that called the stable home. Laurent had been devastated to learn that his kitten would never play like the others, that it was gone.

One of the stable hands had helped him bury it under the shrub where he had found it.

“It’s like that. But, rather than bury people under a bush, we put them here, behind the little doors.”

Laurent mulled this new development over in his head. He looked back down the hall, then forward. There certainly were a lot of little doors.

He imagined himself behind one, sleeping and never waking up again.

He stepped back and dropped his candle to clutch Auguste’s coat hem. The flame sputtered by his feet.

“I don’t want to go behind a little door Auggie,” he whimpered into the fabric.

“Woah, woah, Laurent,” Auguste soothed as he swooped down to pick up the candle. “You won’t be going behind a little door, ever. You’re my little brother. You’ll get something special, I promise.” His tone was gentle enough that Laurent tilted his round face upwards. “Come just a bit further and you’ll see. Mother and Father should already be there.”

Laurent nodded, his face smashed back into Auguste’s coat.

They made their way along the hall in a slow shuffling fashion, Auguste’s long strides hindered by Laurent’s little ones.

When Laurent felt them finally stop, he was relieved to see a stretch of wall free of little doors with his parents waiting by yet another large door.

Jumping from one hem to another, Laurent ran to his mother.

One hand came down to run through his hair as he verbally unloaded all he had learned and felt between emotional sobs.

When the sobs turned to snuffles the hand stopped it's movement and gently tilted his head back.

“Your big brother is right my littlest prince, you won’t ever be behind a little door,” she assured. “You’ll be through these big doors.” She held out her free hand.

Laurent clutched it as tight as he could, fearful of what lay behind the doors.

His father and brother opened it and stepped through first.

A blast of stale air hit Laurent in the face. He pressed himself further into his mother’s skirts, hiding his face from the horrors that lay beyond it.

“Laurent,” his father’s voice echoed off the walls, “come take your candle from Auguste.”

“Go on, you’re safe Laurent,” his mother encouraged, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

With hesitation, he peered into the unfamiliar room. Even after his long hours spent playing hide-and-seek with Auguste, he’d never set foot in the hall of tiny doors or this new room. His curiosity burned strong enough to beat back the fear.

Small shafts of light slanted in from windows in the tall ceiling. They illuminated the painted figures below them.

Carved kings and queens sat in repose, surrounded by their sons and daughters. No little doors in sight, much to Laurent’s relief. This room was much better.

Slowly, his family made their way deeper into the chamber. In front of each grouping, Auguste would break off to place one of his stubby candles at the foot of the statues in a groove in the stone base. After a bow of his head and a prayer too soft for Laurent to hear, he’d light it and rejoin the group.

At each grouping, the little prince studied the figures. In some, he found his father’s nose and his brother’s smile or his own blue eyes. The smallest of the carved children sat on their parents' lap with wide smiles or peaked out from behind the thrones. The older ones stood to the side, often holding something small like a quill or a map. Then there were the ones that looked to be adults, standing behind the children with soft smiles on their lips.

It was clear to see how much time had passed between the carvings at the start of the hall and those further along. The colors of the funny clothes were faded and their edges softer, more time-worn. Meanwhile, those his family was passing by now hadn’t had their gold-leaf details dulled by dust or their edges smoothed by melancholic hands.

It was at the newest looking one that his parents and brother stopped together.

A brown-haired king sat beside a blonde-haired queen. Between their chairs hovered a small girl, caught in mid-swing on the arms of the thrones. She looked about Laurent’s height, with wild curls bouncing out from under her circlet.

His father knelt down and set his own candle in the hollow for it. Laurent wasn’t sure what to do with his own candle so he chose to follow his father’s lead as best he could by putting his candle just to the side of the other before sitting beside his father.

“Who are they?’ Laurent asked as he looked at the figures before him. He could easily see his father and uncle’s faces in the king’s face. And the queen had hair like his own, though not as light.

“They are my own father and mother, Laurent,” his father explained fondly. “And my sister, Sophiea,” he continued before his youngest son could ask.

The gears of Laurent’s mind turned as he processed the new information. “You had a sister? Why isn’t Uncle here too?”

A soft smile curled up his father’s lips even though his eyes were sad. “My brother is still here, Laurent. Our sister and parents have moved to the sky to become stars. When he becomes a star, he’ll join them as a statue here too, in our family hall.” 

Laurent glanced to the last set of thrones a short distance away. The carved chairs sat empty. Two figures were at the foot of one of them though. Auguste and their mother were already there, kneeling like his father.

“And these are our sister and brother, Laurent,” Auguste explained. “Princess Veera and Prince Leon,” he gestured from one to the other. Veera had curly hair that made Laurent look back to his father’s sister. It spilled over her shoulders where she looked down in a small cradle to the sleeping Leon. In the carved folds of her skirts, Laurent spotted a violin and bow.

A large hand took Laurent’s. His father had come to join them.

“We must pray, Laurent. Pray that they find their way back to the stars tonight and don’t become lost. That way, we will see them again one day.” Father’s voice was softer than Laurent had ever heard it as he looked at the carved figures.

While Laurent didn’t fully understand everything, he did know he’d like to have another brother and sister like Auguste one day. Veera and Leon didn’t look mean. So he wished with all his heart that they found their way back to the stars so that one day he could hear Veera play the violin and see baby Leon giggle. 

“Tell me about them, Auggie,” he begged with a tug on his brother’s sleeve.

“I’ll tell you everything about them, Laurent.” 


	2. Les Dents de Myrtille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages: Auguste- 16, and Laurent- 6

“He’s the first in a new line I’m establishing, Laurent,” Auguste explained as they watched the colt trot up towards them. “I want you to have him.”

Laurent looked with wide, excited eyes between the horse and his brother. “Really?”

At the sound of his squeaky exclamation, the colt kicked out with his legs and wheeled around with a loud cry of his own.

Auguste couldn’t help but laugh at the crestfallen look on his brother’s face.

“Here,” he withdrew a handful of blueberries from a pouch on his hip and poured them into Laurent’s hand.

Eagerly, Laurent stuck his hand out through the gap in the fence. Half his body hung over the rail in excitement. His feet wiggled as he struggled to keep his arm still as the curious colt came back towards them.

“Quiet now, Laurent,” Auguste said in an easy voice.

Laurent didn’t hear his other brother. Blood was pounding through his ears and the only thing that broke through was the soft thumps of the horse’s hooves on the ground.

With an eagerness to rival the little boy’s, the horse lipped up all the blueberries. Laurent only got a quick second to feel the velvet softness of his muzzle before his horse dropped his head to investigate the ground for more blueberries.

Laurent whipped around and plunged his hand into his brother’s pouch to reach for more fruit.

Auguste was helpless to stop his brother’s antics. He knew he would get a look from Hubert and a scolding from his mother later at the purple staining on his brother’s hands but it was worth it. Even Andre, the stable master, had come over and was shaking his head with a smile.

“The little prince is going to spoil that horse before I even get a training saddle on him.”

The two turned their heads to follow Laurent jumping and skipping his way along the rail, trading blueberries for steps taken by the colt.

Auguste conceded to the older man’s remark with a dip of his head. “Laurent, come here,” he called out.

The colt stuck his head through the rails and caught the back of Laurent’s jacket in his purple-stained lips. From there, he snuffed upwards and started to lip at the prince’s hair.

Andre lifted an eyebrow at Auguste that Laurent was blind to. He was too busy laughing and putting up a weak fight in pushing the colt away.

It dawned on Auguste then why Andre had warned him against gifting Laurent a horse. They had both seen the wide, worshiping eyes he made when he watched his father and brother and their knights train on their destriers and ride off for hunts on their palfreys. The two would be inseparable, for better or worse.

He walked over to his little brother and firmly pushed the colt off. “Laurent, come away. You need to come up with a name and tell Andre so he can see to getting a plaque made for his stall.”

Instantly, the boy lit up and turned to the older man. “That’s easy! His name is Myrtille!”

Auguste dragged his hand down his face. The winny from the chestnut colt behind him sounded like laughter. Andre at least had the sense to contain himself to a snort.

“Myrtille it is, Little Prince,” he said with a dip of his head.

Sensing his was dismissed, Laurent dashed back to the fence to play more with his horse. 

***

Not even a month passed before Andre and Laurent’s father had started to impose limits on his time around Myrtille and in the stables in general. The restriction came after the whole castle had flown into a tizzy when their little prince had gone missing just before dinner. He had been found curled up asleep with his colt under a tree, in the far back of a pasture. Purple stains were smeared all over his mouth and palms.

The next day he had been forbidden from going to the stables for the whole day for the first time. The day after, his father and the stable master had a talk with him about the new time limit. 

“You’ll spoil him absolutely rotten, Little Prince,” explained King Aleron. “He won’t have any manners and will be harder to work with and ride.”

“But he’s mine!” Laurent shouted with a stamp of his little foot.

“And this stable yard is mine,” Andre said as patiently as he could. “I won’t have you ruin your own horse before I can even begin his flatwork.” Even with the king present, the stable master had no fear of his words towards royalty. He knew he had the family’s respect. Well, the family minus the little prince at this moment.

Laurent looked to his father for support. The wheels turned in his head, trying to work out how to get what he wanted. His emotions were too much for his little body and came bursting out. “But- but- but- I’m your Prince and I want Myrtille,” he wailed. He ran forward, sight blurred by tears, to pound his small fists against Andre.

“Laurent, stop that this instant,” snapped his father. “If you are going to use your title, act like you are deserving of it. You will apologize to Andre right now then come with me back to the castle so Andre can tend to the other horses.”

The crying only increased. “I wanted to see Myrtille today,” Laurent stuttered out between heaving sobs. The two adults shared a look at the young boy’s tantrum. Aleron had almost forgotten this sort of behavior given how old Auguste was. 

Both men waited while the young boy’s breathing slowed and his fists unclenched enough to grab a bit of Andre’s shirt.

“Sorry,” sniffed Laurent as he took a step back, his anger petering out. He held out his hand for his father to take.

“You can see Myrtille tomorrow Laurent,” promised his father as he led them back to the castle.

***

The weeks past and Laurent grew to relish every moment he spent with Myrtille. No longer did Auguste have a shadow when he rode in the ring. Instead, his brother would go off to Myrtille’s box or paddock to be with his beloved colt.

August could only ever smile when he heard his little brother chattering away to the animal as he fed him one carefully rationed blueberry at a time. That had become a rule too; only ten blueberries a day and no begging more treats off the stable hands. Especially not carrots.

The memory of the last time that had happened was still fresh in August’s mind.

The stable hand had passed Laurent a carrot out of the basketful he’d been carrying. Thinking nothing of it, Laurent had taken a bite of it before offering the rest to Myrtille. At least, that was what Laurent had told him. Auguste only remembers hearing Laurent let out a distressing squeal before a little bundle of limbs was running towards him, heedless of how he’d been taught to act around horses.

When he had seen the blood spilling from his brother’s mouth, Auguste’s thoughts at chiding him died in his throat.

“What happened,” his mind was already racing.

“I was feeding Myrtille a carrot,” Laurent started to explain with blood staining the edges of his lips.

Auguste’s thoughts darkened. “Did Myrtille kick you?” He desperately hoped not. Surely the little colt wasn’t so spoiled already that he had hurt Laurent in an effort to get more food.

Laurent shook his head vigorously. “Nuh-uh. The carrot hurt my tooth. Seeee,” he opened his mouth wide.

A bloody hole where a bottom tooth should be greeted Auguste.

All the fear washed out of him in an instant. “You lost your first tooth Laurent!” He ran a hand through his hair as he shook off the last traces of worry with a wide smile. Honestly, his brother would send him to an early grave from worry. 

“Lost my-” he broke off to probe his mouth with a finger. His eyes crossed as he tried to see the empty space.

“Did you have a bite of the carrot, too?”

Laurent nodded.

“That explains it. Your tooth must have been a bit loose and biting the carrot just made it come out sooner. But it just means you’re growing up!” Auguste had added the last bit in an effort to stave off any fear Laurent might have about losing more teeth.

“I lost all my teeth, too. And so did mother and father. And Andre. And, and, well, everyone, I suppose. But then after you’ll get bigger, stronger teeth. In fact, the same thing will happen to Myrtille.”

Laurent’s eyes had brightened at the mention of his beloved colt. All the pain of a tooth coming out a bit early was forgotten in a flash.

“Really, we’ll be smile twins again when he loses a tooth too?”

 _Smile twins,_ Auguste couldn’t help but chuckle at his little brother. “Yes, you’ll be smile twins again. Promise.”

He rose to his feet and signaled for the stable hand to take care of the horse now pawing in the ties. Auguste could postpone his riding time to have the delight of bringing his not-so-little-now little brother to their parents.

“Now, let’s see if we can find your tooth so the little mouse will find it and trade you a treat for it,” he suggested as he shepherded Laurent back to Myrtille’s box where the horse had his head sticking out, wondering where his little treat-giver had gone in a rush.

“Little mouse,” Laurent asked as he pawed about in the hay outside the box as his brother was doing.

Auguste hummed in confirmation, also rooting about in the small bits of hay and straw that inevitably collected along the edges of the stalls.

As he searched and Laurent tossed bits of hay, he explained the story of the little mouse who traded baubles for teeth. Just as his little brother was starting to despair over not having his first tooth to trade, Auguste found it.

“Ta-da!” He held out the tooth to his brother who took it with a cry of delight. “Now, let’s go show Mother and Father. I’m sure they’ll be excited.”

***

In hindsight, everyone should have known Laurent would insist that a note be left for the little mouse, requesting she also deliver a treat to Myrtille when he started to lose his baby teeth too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know why I named a horse Myrtille you get a high five.


	3. Notre secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ages: Auguste- 17, Laurent- 7

“Pleeeeease,” begged Laurent as he followed his brother to the training hall. “Please, please, please, please, please, Auggie.” 

“No, Laurent,” his brother snapped. “Father and Oscar would have my hide, to say nothing of what Mother would do to me,” Auguste said with a shiver of fear. “That’s final.” 

The younger brother wasn’t having it though and continued his pleas. “But I’m bigger now! I just lost another tooth yesterday!” He drifted over to where the lighter foils were hung in their racks along the wall. 

“You know you’re not to use the metal ones, Laurent,” his brother said sharply just as Laurent reached a hand out to touch one of the blades. 

Laurent whirled around to face his brother. Auguste was undoing the lacing of his jacket while an attendant set up the training dummy and target ball. 

“Would you like us to set up a target for you, Prince Laurent,” asked one of the attendants kindly. 

An impudent ‘no’ almost tumbled out of his mouth before he came up with a better plan. He swallowed the indignant fury and put on his most innocent face. 

“Yes,” he answered with a sweet smile. Then, mimicking his father, he added, “Thank you, that will be all. You’re dismissed.” 

His brother let out a sigh and the attendants’ faces went funny for a moment. Auguste gave them a dismissing wave of his hand. 

Eager to keep his victory, Laurent trotted over to where his rack of wooden practice foils stood on the floor. 

Dutifully, he followed Auguste’s lead. When his older brother took a moment to select a different sabre than his usual, Laurent took an extra moment to select his weapon. Privately, he didn't think it was a big deal that he  _ did  _ pick his usual foil. 

For the rest of their time spent in the training hall, Laurent copied all of Auguste’s moves. It hadn’t taken long for his brother to figure him out but Laurent only gave a grunt of confirmation when asked. 

Auguste didn’t go easy. 

He knew what Laurent was trying to do and it wasn’t going to work. He settled into the stance the swordmaster, Oscar, had drilled into him and began his practice. 

Footwork first, to warm up. Up and down the piste he shuffled, jumped, and lunged, always with corrections from Oscar on his footwork and arm position in the back of his mind. His little brother was panting like a dog by the end of the warm-up but Auguste didn’t relent. 

Normally, the attendant would call out numbers for him to target on the dummy to teach him to better think on his feet. Without a caller, he focused more on his lunging and keeping his sabre up. He could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck under his ponytail. The muscles of his sword arm were only just starting to ache a bit as a testament to his rigorous training. He spared a moment to wipe his forehead on the shoulder of his shirt while casting a covert eye on Laurent. 

He could see fine tremors in the young boy’s sword arm where it hung limp at his side during the brief respite. His face was red and shiny with sweat. Auguste couldn’t help the feeling of pride the blossomed in his chest as he admired his brother’s dogged determination. 

Taking a moment of pity, he made his way over to the pitcher of water set out for them. No words passed between the brothers as Auguste poured two cups of water. No sooner had he downed his than he was back to his position on the piste. 

Yet, only when his little shadow was in place did he resume. 

This time he focused on accuracy, a skill honed by having to land hits on a small ball hanging on a piece of twine strung from the ceiling. Auguste had hated the elusive little ball when he was Laurent’s age. There had been many times Oscar had frogmarched him back into the hall to finish the exercise as he cried out for his guards to save him and throw Oscar in prison.

After sending the ball swinging wildly twenty times, Auguste called it a day and went to hang up his sabre. As he stepped off the piste, he heard the tell-tale clatter of Laurent’s sword dropping to the ground. 

When he turned around, Laurent was doubled over, hands on his knees, taking in great gulps of air. 

Auguste poured another cup of water and brought it over to his brother. 

“Drink. Slowly.” 

Laurent grasped the cup in two hands and eagerly chugged it down. His sigh when he lowered it was one of relief and exhaustion. 

Auguste picked up the wooden foil where it lay and held it out for Laurent to take. 

“Go ahead and put this up. You did well.” 

The cup was exchanged for the sword. 

With dragging steps, Laurent made his way to his rack of practice swords and put his up. When his back was turned to his older brother, he sniffed and scrubbed the hot tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. 

Auguste could feel himself about to cave at the aura of dejection that radiated from his little brother. He just prayed Laurent could keep it a secret long enough for his parents to laugh about it when they inevitably found out. 

“Come here,” he said, indicating the spot in front of Laurent’s shorter target dummy.

Without a word, he walked down the wall, away from where his and Oscars personal swords were hung to where the regular practice swords were hung. They were lighter, made of lower quality metal. Selecting the shortest, lightest foil he could find, Auguste rejoined Laurent on the piste, sword in hand. 

Laurent’s eyes were wide with disbelief. 

Auguste held it up and squinted his eye down the length of the blade. He gave it a few test swings before doing a few quick lunges with it towards his own target dummy. 

With a flourish, he spun the blade downward and presented the hilt to Laurent. 

“This will be our secret, as brothers and as princes.” 

Laurent wrapped his hand around the hilt and Auguste let go. Laurent’s arm dipped instantly under its weight but his cheeks lifted in a wide smile that crinkled his eyes. 

“Thank you, Auggie!” 

He smiled at his nickname. “Enough of that,” he said ruefully, “remember to keep the sword up.” 

Focused on the sword in his hand, Laurent turned to the dummy. The joy of getting to use a real metal sword, something leagues above the wooden ones he’d been forced to use for so long, did wonders for the fatigue he had been feeling. 

He hit every number on the dummy Auguste called for him. He was slow, adjusting to the weight and falling response time of his muscles as the fatigue started to come back in full force. 

By the time Auguste called an end, Laurent’s whole body felt like jelly, his right arm being the worst. He didn’t want to raise it for the rest of his life. Luckily his older brother took pity on him and hung up the sword for him and gathered their discarded jackets.

Even better, he knelt down in front of Laurent with his back presented and arms positioned to hold his legs for a piggy-back ride. Grateful, Laurent clambered on. 

“You did very well, little brother,” Auguste told him as they made their way out of the hall. 

“Thanks, Auggie,” Laurent said around a yawn. He wanted nothing more than to take a long nap before dinner. “This was the best secret ever.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments > kudos


End file.
